


And So It Goes

by cerie



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Gen, Kittens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:58:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/pseuds/cerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hardly. We have things that occupy many of our hours for long stretches. I doubt I could provide the sort of stable environment a young kitten like this needs.” Even as he says it, the kitten pushes his head against Ichabod’s hand, nudging him in a war of wills until he concedes and pets it lightly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And So It Goes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RJ_Anderson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RJ_Anderson/gifts).



“Lieutenant, what is this mewling kitten doing at your desk?” Ichabod watches the cat with a wary curiosity. While he has plenty of experience with horses and dogs, he’d never kept a cat and he was not of the opinion that a cat had a place inside a police station. Abbie, for her part, looks up mildly and shrugs. It is utterly nonchalant and careless, in that there is nothing so strange about having a cat on her desk as there would be about her coffee having gone cold or needing to empty her wastebin.

“Busted a cat hoarder. Sad thing, really, and all the cats need homes. Animal control is full up so I’ve got this one here until we can find a place for him. Why? Are you in the market for a pet?” Her face lights up then, somewhat amused, and Ichabod notes that her eyes crinkle just a bit when she’s trying to suppress a smile. He’s learned a lot of things about Lieutenant Abbie Mills over the past few weeks - how she takes her coffee, how when she frowns her forehead wrinkles just a bit as if she’s merely concentrating, how she finds many of the things he says to be amusing and tries, desperately, to hide just how much it affects her. Abbie Mills is nothing if not concerned with keeping up an air of confidence. Ichabod thinks she need not try so hard as her actions speak ever so much louder than words; she is a fine police officer and a clever detective. 

“Hardly. We have things that occupy many of our hours for long stretches. I doubt I could provide the sort of stable environment a young kitten like this needs.” Even as he says it, the kitten pushes his head against Ichabod’s hand, nudging him in a war of wills until he concedes and pets it lightly. He’s small and underfed and completely black from tip to tip. Ichabod’s hand seems to be almost big as the cat himself and it’s not long before his idle stroking turns into picking the cat up so he can cradle him properly. 

“You’re really not selling me on the idea that you don’t like animals,” Abbie points out and Ichabod frowns a bit, tickling the kitten beneath his chin a bit and laughing when the damned thing starts to purr so loudly he vibrates against his hand. “I never said I disliked animals. I had horses and dogs for hunting, both of which are clever creatures. I have just never had the time or inclination to keep a pet cat. I suppose, if he has nowhere else to stay, I could take him home with me.”

Abbie reaches beneath her desk for a plastic and wire carrier and hands him two bowls and a paper sack of something that Ichabod doesn’t recognize. He shifts the kitten to his other hand and runs his fingers against the lettering against the bag. “Meow Mix? What is this?” Abbie shakes her head a little. “Kibble. You’re going to need to feed the thing.”

Ichabod was under the impression that cats hunted and fed themselves and did not need to beg for scraps but like most things about the modern world, it seems to have changed.

***

Ichabod is laying in bed when he feels the lightest pressure that is indicative of a tiny creature using him as a causeway from point a to point b. He cracks his eyes open just a bit to see the kitten creeping up the length of his body and settling so he’s curled on his chest and his head is tucked beneath Ichabod’s chin. Once in this position that is comfortable for the cat and less so for him, the kitten proceeds to shut his eyes and purr again, loud enough that it rumbles against Ichabod’s bare chest.

“I believe you may be a bit confused about sleeping arrangements,” Ichabod says but the cat does not seem to acknowledge him. Cats, it seems, are contrary creatures concerned only with their own comforts and not about the comfort of any other creature in the vicinity. Ichabod sighs and pets the kitten, resigned to having him in bed for the time being. At least he won’t shed against the sheets if he’s sleeping perched on his chest.

“I suppose I shall have to name you,” he says, earning a noncommittal meow from the kitten. Ichabod strokes two fingers down the spine of the cat and laughs when he arches his back a little into the touch. “Icarus, I think. You’re curious almost to a fault and Icarus was too. Careful that you don’t let your wings melt, hmm?”

Ichabod shifts the cat into a somewhat more comfortable position and heads back to sleep, resolved to start trying anew with training the damned thing in the morning. 

He is reasonably sure he can be successful.

***

When he takes a bath the next morning, Icarus decides to try his luck at walking along the lip of the tub, occasionally dipping his paw down to play in the water. It seems the kitten is fascinated with it even if he wants nothing to do with actually _taking_ a bath and Ichabod flicks a little water in his face to get him to shoo. It works, but only just: Icarus decides to perch near the sink instead and tucks his limbs beneath him in something that seems horribly uncomfortable. Ichabod will never understand cats.

When he gets out of the bath and reaches for a towel, Icarus hops down and rubs himself against his damp legs. It’s simultaneously endearing and disgusting, as Ichabod doesn’t mind the affection but hates the feeling of cat fur against his wet, bare skin. He shoos the cat as best he can and sighs, shaking his head.

“You are hellbent to annoy me, aren’t you? Damnable creature.”

Icarus merely licks one paw delicately, a haughty look on his face. Ichabod is certain that animals aren’t meant to take on the facial expressions of their owners but if he didn’t know any better, he’d say the cat was _mocking_ him and, by all indication, very well.

***

“So, how’s the cat going?” It’s been about a week since he took Icarus into his care and Ichabod merely shrugs, making a little tut under his breath that is far less invested than he actually is. He’s actually fond of the cat and enjoys having something to come home to, something warm and kind that depends on him. It’s no replacement for human company, of course, but he’s content with it all the same. It seems to be filling a void he hadn’t realized he had, a part of him that has been terribly lonely when not running pell-mell on the path toward unraveling the mystery of the horseman.

“So it goes, Lieutenant. So it goes.”


End file.
